


another day, another dream

by Soriing



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-19 01:31:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8183852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soriing/pseuds/Soriing
Summary: You know you shouldn't have gone to his bunker, the last place he really felt safe anymore.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, look, smut. I wrote this instead of sl, which I should be getting back to now.

He doesn’t expect visitors, he never does. Especially not after you two ended things. So, when he saw you in the CCTV cameras on his monitor, looking dazed at the door asking unfamiliar questions in a rapid-fire manner, he resorted to what he knows best. Pushing you away.

 

His heavily-protected door swings open quickly, his face filling your vision. “What do you want?”

 

It hurts, hearing the distance between the two of you, the exasperation plastered on his face, despite the shakiness in his voice.

 

“I-” you start, pausing when his brows furrow. You take a deep breath and hold it. “You haven’t been in the chatroom for almost a month now… Everyone’s getting worried, Saeyoung-”

 

“Don’t you dare call me that,” he orders, voice far louder than necessary, face turning away from yours. You flinch. He looks back at you with wet eyes. “Please,” he adds in a whisper through the thick, suffocating tension.

 

“Seven,” you correct, trying to forget about the tears stinging your own eyes, “how are you feeling? Really?”

 

He lets out a humourless chuckle, and you wish you could hear more of it. “Aside from losing my best friend and switching meds again? Just peachy.” It’s bitter, the way he talks, the way he looks at you, but his face, his eyes- they’re sad.

 

There’s a silence between you now, and there’s a pain in your chest. His adam’s apple bobs and he sighs. He motions for you to come in and turns on his heel, b-lining for his desk and going back to work. You know you shouldn’t follow him, but you do. He’s intoxicating that way.

 

You sit on his small coffee table, back to his bed. You stare at your hands clasped tightly in your lap.

 

It feels like hours pass, the sound of clicking keys filling your ears as you study all the lines in your hands. You steal quick glances up to look at him. You wish he would look back at you, with those tired, sad eyes of his framed by glasses. You worry your bottom lip between teeth and drop your gaze back to your lap every time he stops typing and you think he just might look behind him at you with that smile of his you miss so much. But he never does.

 

You clear your throat, and his fingers linger over the keyboard, stopping that clicking, clicking, clicking that makes you nervous.

 

“Why are you here, really?” he asks, and it’s wavering. You suppress your smile.

 

“What?” you ask, playing dumb.

 

“You’re obviously not here to console me, and the others would have sent someone else to check on me if you just asked.”

 

His breath is off, you can hear it even feet away. You think about what to say. Why _were_ you even here? And then he looks back at you, eyes full of hope- or is that resignation?- and you remember.

 

You stand up, his eyes glued onto your form, and slowly walk towards him. Your heart is beating, threatening to rip open your chest and leap at him. You stop in front of him, looking down and meeting his gaze. He’s craning his neck to look at you, towering over him, hands at your sides, cold and twitching. His adam’s apple bobs up and down again as he gulps.

 

You grab fistfuls of his jacket, smashing his lips to yours, greedily breathing in his scent. When you pull away, you see the tears drop down his flushed cheeks. He stares at you in bewilderment. You feel guilty for showing up at his only sanctuary for this, but it’s too late to go back.

 

You wipe his tears away with your thumb. “I missed you,” you breathe, bringing your face closer to his. His hands weave their way into your hair. It sends shivers down your body. _God_ , you want him to kiss you. But he won’t. You know he won’t. You’re not surprised when he presses his forehead against yours and his body racks with soft sobs. You pull away from him and look down at him, but he lowers his head, squeezing his eyes shut as the tears flow. You grab his chin and look at him, his eyes slowly opening. He looks up at you through thick eyelashes. No, he’s looking above you.

 

The air is quiet, the only sounds are his shaky breaths and sniffles.

 

You’re not used to it anymore.

 

So you kiss him again, hands traveling down to rest on his chest. His hands tremble when they slide down to the collar of your dress, gripping the fabric like it’s his only lifeline left. It might be.

 

His tears are still coming, though, now they’re slowing, even when your mouth travels to the side of his neck. You suck on the soft skin, tongue licking swift circles beneath your lips. His arms wrap around your neck, now that you’re moving further down his body. You slide the shoulder of his jacket and shirt down, baring his pale skin to you. You can’t help yourself. You bite into him, though not hard enough to draw blood. He gasps.

 

“Please,” you say against his shoulder, “talk to me again.”

 

His arms go limp around you, dropping to his sides. You nuzzle against his neck, wrapping your arms around his neck, where his were just around you. You pull him close. He’s crying again. You let seconds, minutes pass, buried into his still form.

 

You place soft kisses up his neck and along his jaw. You wish he would at least look at you and not up at the ceiling. You place one knee beside his thigh on the chair, then the other, straddling and kneeling over him. You look into his eyes, see your reflection in his glasses. You just want him to pay attention to you again.

 

You cradle his face in your hands, pressing your mouth against his, much, much more furiously this time. Your tongue licks his lips, trying to force its way in. His chapped lips don’t part. You groan in frustration and lower yourself against him to rock your hips against his. He moans, and your tongue darts in. His breath hitches before he’s feverishly kissing you back, tongue playing with yours, arms grabbing your waist. His cheeks are dry under your palms now, stained with the trails of his bittersweet tears.

 

You pull away, heavy panting matching his. You want him to be yours again. Your eyes gaze into his clouded, golden pair. You can’t tell what’s going through his mind. You ease yourself off him after placing another quick kiss to his lips. His eyes follow you, widening when you kneel in front of him.

 

You spread his legs apart. That adam’s apple of his bobs again, his hands moving through your hair, softly massaging your scalp. You stare up at him from between his legs, palming him through his pants.

 

“Fuck,” he breathes, sucking air between his teeth. He groans, pulling off his glasses and rubbing his eyes with one hand. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

 

“But you’re not stopping me.”

 

“I’m not.”

 

You unzip his pants. He lifts himself up enough for you to pull his boxers over his erection, head glistening with precum.

 

You grip your hand around the base of his shaft, licking slowly up his length. He lets out a shaky exhale, throwing his head back. Tears are forming in the corners of his eyes again. You shift your gaze back to his erection.

 

You pump, grip firm around the silky flesh of his cock, pressing kisses to the underside of his head, the tip, along his shaft. Your other hand strokes his thigh, the rough fabric of his jeans juxtaposed against his soft skin. His hands shakily grip at your hair, pushing you further down onto him.

 

It’s salty, and you don’t know if it’s from his precum or your fresh tears.

 

You force yourself further down on him, sucking roughly as you bob up and down, hand gently squeezing his base. He moans, pain shooting through your scalp as he tugs harder on your hair.

 

“Fu- stop,” he pants. “Stop, please, stop.” Your pace slows, and you look up at his freshly tear-coated cheeks and puffy red eyes. You’re sure you mirror his weak state, streaks of mascara scarring you. His hands release their rough grip in your hair, moving up to pull at his own. His body is shaking. “Stop,” he sobs, pressing his palms into his watery eyes.

 

Your mouth leaves his cock with a pop. You fall back, sitting on your legs curled up underneath you. You rest your forehead on the seat of his chair, hands moving to claw at the hem of your dress.

 

You’re both shaking, sobbing, panting messes.

 

“I’m sorry,” you say, and your voice is trembling and raw and you hate it. “I’m- I'm so sorry. I shouldn’t have come here.”

  
“No, no,” he whispers. “Don’t apologize just- please, just- just hold me.”


End file.
